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Lois Leveen: IMG Forsooth Me Not: Shakespeare, Juliet, Her Nurse, and a Novel



There's this writer, William Shakespeare. Perhaps you've heard of him. He wrote this play, Romeo and Juliet. Maybe you've heard of it as well. It's... Continue »
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Plum Spooky (Stephanie Plum Novels)

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Plum Spooky (Stephanie Plum Novels) Cover

ISBN13: 9780312383329
ISBN10: 0312383320
Condition: Standard
Dustjacket: Standard
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Excerpt

Plum Spooky. Copyright © 2008 by Evanovich, Inc. All rights reserved.

 

1

ONE

Sometimes you get up in the morning and you know its

going to be one of those days. No toothpaste left in the

tube, no toilet paper on the cardboard roll, hot water cuts

out halfway through your shower, and someones left a

monkey on your doorstep.

My name is Stephanie Plum, and Im a bail bonds enforcement

agent for Vincent Plum Bail Bonds. I live in

a one- bedroom, one- bath, unremarkable apartment in a

three- story brick box of a building on the outskirts of

Trenton, New Jersey. Usually I live alone with my hamster,

Rex, but at eight- thirty this morning, my roommate

list was enlarged to include Carl the Monkey. I opened

my door to go to work, and there he was. Small brown

monkey with long, curled tail, creepy little monkey fingers

and toes, crazy, bright monkey eyes, and he was on a

leash hooked to my doorknob. A note was attached to his

collar.

Hi! Remember me? Im Carl and I belong to

Susan Stitch. Susan is on her honeymoon and

she knows youll take good care of me until

she returns.

First, let me say that Ive never wanted a monkey. Second,

I barely know Susan Stitch. Third, what the heck am I

supposed to do with the little bugger?

Twenty minutes later, I parked my Jeep Wrangler in front

of the bonds office on Hamilton Avenue. At one time, the

Wrangler had been red, but it had seen many lives before it

fell into my hands, and now it was far from primo and the

color was motley.

Carl followed me out of the car and into the office, hugging

my pants leg like a two- year- old. Connie, the office

manager who looked like a big Italian Betty Boop, peered

around her computer.

Lula, the office file clerk and wheelman, stood hands

on hips. “That better not be what I think it is,” Lula said,

eyeballing Carl. “I hate monkeys. You know I hate monkeys.”

“Its Carl,” I told her. “Remember when we busted Susan

Stitch for failing to appear? And remember her monkey,

Carl?”

 

“Yeah?”

“Here he is.”

“What are you doing with him?”

“He was attached to my doorknob with a note. Susan

went on a honeymoon and left him with me.”

 “She got a lot of nerve,” Lula said. “Wheres he go to the

bathroom? You ever think of that?”

I looked down at Carl. “Well?”

Carl blinked and shrugged. He looked at Lula and Connie,

curled his lips back and gave them a gummy monkey

smile.

“I dont like the way hes lookin at me,” Lula said. “Its

creepy. What kind of monkey you got here anyway?”

Lula is a former ho, and shes only moderately altered

her wardrobe to suit her new job. Lula somehow manages

to perform the miracle of squeezing her plus- size body

into petite- size clothes. Her hair was blond this week, her

skin was brown as always, her spandex tube dress was poison

green, and her shoes were four- inch, spike- heeled,

faux leopard Via Spigas. It came as no surprise that the

monkey was staring at Lula. Everyone stared at Lula.

I didnt command that much attention in my jeans, girlcut

red T-shirt, gray sweatshirt, and inadequate swipe of

lash- lengthening mascara. Not only did I feel like a bran

muffin in a bakery case filled with eclairs, I was also the only

one not packing a gun. My eyes are blue, my hair is brown,

and my favorite word is cake. I was married for ten minutes

in another life, and Im not inclined to repeat the mistake

anytime soon. There are a couple men in my life who tempt

me . . . just not with marriage.

One of those tempting men is Joe Morelli. Hes a Trenton

cop with bedroom eyes, and bedroom hands, and

everything else youd want to find in your bedroom is top

of the line. Hes been my off- again, on- again boyfriend

for as long as I can remember, and last night he was onagain.

The second guy in my life is Carlos Manoso, aka Ranger.

Rangers been my mentor, my employer, my guardian angel,

and hes gotten as intimate with me as a man can get, but

Ranger has never totally qualified as a boyfriend. Boyfriend

might suggest an occasional date, and I cant see Ranger going

there. Ranger is the sort of guy who slips uninvited into

a girls dreams and desires and refuses to leave.

 

 

“Whats happening with Martin Munch?” Connie asked

me. “Vinnies in a rant over him. Munch is a big- ticket bond.

If you dont drag his ass into court by the end of the month,

our bottom line wont be good.”

This is the way things work in the bail bonds business. A

guy gets accused of a crime, and before hes released back

into society, the court demands a security deposit. If the

accused doesnt happen to have $50,000 under his mattress

to give to the court, he goes to a bail bonds agent and

that agent posts the bond for the accused for a fee. If the

accused doesnt show up for his court date, the court gets

to keep the bondsmans money until someone like me hauls

the accused back to jail.

My ferret- faced cousin Vinnie owns the bonds office on

paper, but hes backed by his father- in- law, Harry the Hammer.

If Vinnie writes too many bad bonds and the office

runs in the red, Harry isnt happy. And you dont want a

guy with a name like Harry the Hammer to be unhappy.

“Ive been looking for Munch all week,” I said to Connie.

“Its like hes dropped off the earth.”

Martin Munch is a twenty- four- year- old genius with a

doctorate in quantum physics. For what ever reason, Munch

went postal on his project manager, riding him like Man

OWar, breaking his nose with a Dunkin Donuts coffee

mug, knocking him cold. Moments later, Munch was caught

on a security tape as he left the research lab cradling a oneof-

a-kind monster cesium vapor magnetometer. What ever

the heck that is!

Munch was arrested and booked, but the magnetometer

was never recovered. In a moment of insanity, Vinnie wrote

a bond for Munch, and now Munch is playing hard to get

with his contraption.

“This is a white- collar guy,” Connie said. “He hasnt grown

up in a crime culture. His friends and family are probably

horrified. I cant see them hiding him.”

“He hasnt got a lot of friends and family,” I told her.

“From what I can determine, he has neighbors who have

never spoken to him, and the only family is a grandmother

in a retirement home in Cadmount. He was employed at

the research facility for two years, and he never socialized.

Before that, he was a student at Princeton, where he never

got his face out of a book.

“His neighbors tell me a couple months ago a guy started

visiting Munch. The guy was a little over six feet tall, with

 

an athletic build and expensive clothes. He drove a black

Ferrari and had shoulder- length black hair and pale, almost

white skin. Sometimes Munch would leave with him

and not come back for several days. Thats the whole enchilada.”

“Sounds like Dracula,” Lula said. “Was he wearing a

cape? Did he have fangs?”

“No one said anything about a cape or fangs.”

“Munch must have come in when I was out sick last

week,” Lula said. “I dont remember him.”

“So what was it?” I asked her. “The flu?”

“I dont know what it was. My eyes were all swollen, and

I was sneezing and wheezing, and I felt like I had a fever. I

just stayed in my apartment, drinking medicinal whiskey

and taking cold pills, and now I feel fine. Whats this Munch

look like?”

I took his file from my Prada knockoff messenger bag and

showed Lula a photo.

“Good thing hes a genius,” Lula said, “on account of he

dont have much else going on.”

At five- feet- two- inches tall, Munch looked more like fourteen

than twenty- four. He was slim, with strawberry blond

hair and pale freckled skin. The photo was taken outdoors,

and Munch was squinting into the sun. He was wearing

jeans and sneakers and a SpongeBob T-shirt, and it occurred

to me that he probably shopped in the kids department.

I imagine you have to be pretty secure in your

manhood to pull that one off.

“Im feeling hot today,” Lula said. “I bet I could find that

Munch. I bet hes sitting home in his Underoos playing

with his whatchamacallit.”

“I guess it wouldnt hurt for us to check out his house one

more time,” I said. “Hes renting one of those little tiny row

houses on Crocker Street, down by the button factory.”

 “What are you gonna do with the monkey?” Lula wanted

to know.

I looked over at Connie.

“Forget it,” Connie said. “Im not babysitting a monkey.

Especially not that monkey.”

“Well, I dont let monkeys ride in my car,” Lula said. “If

that monkeys going with us, youre gonna have to drive

your car. And Im sitting in the back, so I can keep an eye

on him. I dont want no monkey sneaking up behind me

giving me monkey cooties.”

“Ive got two new skips,” Connie said to me. “One of

them, Gordo Bollo, ran over his ex- wifes brand- new husband

with a pickup truck, twice. And the other, Denny

Guzzi, robbed a con ve nience store and accidentally shot

himself in the foot trying to make his getaway. Both idiots

failed to show for their court appearances.”

Connie shoved the paperwork to the edge of the desk.

I signed the contract and took the files that contained a

photo, the arrest sheet, and the bond agreement for each

man.

“Shouldnt be hard to tag Denny Guzzi,” Connie said.

“Hes got a big ban dage on his foot, and he cant run.”

“Yeah, but hes got a gun,” I said to Connie.

“This is Jersey,” Connie said. “Everyones got a gun . . .

except you.”

We left the bonds office, and Lula stood looking at my car.

“I forgot you got this dumb Jeep,” Lula said. “I cant get

in the back of this thing. Only Romanian acrobats could

get in the back of this. I guess the monkeys gotta ride in

back, but I swear he makes a move on me, and Im gonna

shoot him.”

I slid behind the wheel, Lula wedged herself into the

passenger- side seat, and Carl hopped into the back. I adjusted

my rearview mirror, locked onto Carl, and I swear it

looked to me like Carl was making faces at Lula and giving

her the finger.

“What?” Lula said to me. “You got a strange look on

you.”

“Its nothing,” I said. “I just thought Carl was . . . never

mind.”

I drove across town, parked in front of Munchs house

on Crocker Street, and we all piled out of the Jeep.

“This heres a boring- ass house,” Lula said. “It looks like

every other house on the street. If I came home after having

two cosmopolitans, I wouldnt know which house was

mine. Look at them. Theyre all redbrick. They all have the

same stupid black door and black window trim. They dont

even have no front yard. Just a stoop. And they all got the

same stupid stoop.”

I glanced at Lula. “Are you okay? Thats a lot of hostility

for a poor row house.”

“Its the monkey. Monkeys give me the willies. And I

might have a headache from all that medicinal whiskey.”

I rang Munchs doorbell and looked through sheers that

screened the front window. Beyond the sheers, the house

was dark and still.

“I bet hes in there,” Lula said. “I bet hes hiding under

the bed. I think we should go around to the back and look.”

There were fifteen row houses in all. All shared common

walls, and Munchs was almost dead middle. We returned

to the Jeep, I rolled down the street, turned left at the corner

and took the alley that cut the block. I parked, and we

all got out and walked through Munchs postage- stamp

backyard. The rear of the house was similar to the front. A

door and two windows. The door had a small swinging

trapdoor at the bottom for a pet, and Carl instantly scurried

inside.

I was dumbstruck. One minute, Carl was in the Jeep,

and then, in an instant, he was inside the house.

“Holy macaroni,” Lula said. “Hes fast!”

We looked in a window and saw Carl in the kitchen,

bouncing off counters, jumping up and down on the small

kitchen table.

I pressed my nose to the glass. “I have to get him out.”

“Like hell you do,” Lula said. “This heres your lucky day.

I say finders keepers.”

“What if Munch never returns? Carl will starve to

death.”

“I dont think so,” Lula said. “He just opened the refrigerator.”

“There has to be a way to get in. Maybe Munch hid a

key.”

“Well, someone could accidentally break a window,”

Lula said. “And then someone else could crawl in and beat

the living crap out of the monkey.”

“No. Were not breaking or beating.”

I rapped on the window, and Carl gave me the finger.

Lula sucked in some air. “That little fucker just flipped

us the bird.”

“It was probably accidental.”

Lula glared in at Carl. “Accident this!” she said to him,

middle finger extended.

Carl turned and mooned Lula, although it wasnt much

of a moon since he wasnt wearing clothes to begin with.

“Oh yeah?” Lula said. “You want to see a moon? I got a

moon to show you.”

“No!” I said to Lula. “No more moons. Bad enough I just

looked at a monkey butt. I dont want your butt burned

into my ret i nas.”

“Hunh,” Lula said. “Lotta people paid good money to

see that butt.”

Carl drank some milk out of a carton and put it back into

the refrigerator. He opened the crisper drawer and pawed

around in it but didnt find anything he wanted. He closed

the refrigerator, scratched his stomach, and looked around.

“Let me in,” I said to him. “Open the door.”

“Yeah, right,” Lula said. “As if his little pea brain could

understand you.”

Carl gave Lula the finger again. And then Carl threw the

deadbolt, opened the door, and stuck his tongue out at Lula.

“If theres one thing I cant stand,” Lula said, “its a showoff

monkey.”

I did a fast walk- through of the house. Not much to see.

Two small bedrooms, living room, single bath, small eat- in

kitchen. These houses were built by the button factory after

the war to entice cheap labor, and the button factory didnt

waste money on frills. The houses had been sold many

times over since then and were now occupied by an odd assortment

of se nior citizens, newly marrieds, and crazies.

Seemed to me, Munch fit into the crazy category.

There were no clothes in the closet, no toiletries in the

bathroom, no computer anywhere. Munch had cleared out,

leaving a carton of milk, some sprouted onions, and a halfempty

box of Rice Krispies behind.

“Its the strangest thing,” Lula said. “I got this sudden

craving for coffee cake. Do you smell cinnamon? Its like

its mixed up with Christmas trees and oranges.”

Id noticed the scent. And I was afraid I recognized it.

“How about you?” I asked Carl. “Do you smell cinnamon?”

Carl did another shrug and scratched his butt.

“Now all I can think of is cinnamon buns,” Lula said. “I

got buns on the brain. We gotta go find some. Or maybe a

doughnut. I wouldnt mind a dozen doughnuts. I need a

bakery. I got cravings.”

Everyone vacated the kitchen, I locked the back door,

and we all piled into the Jeep. I found my way to Hamilton

and stopped at Tasty Pastry.

“What kind of doughnut do you want?” I asked Lula.

“Any kind. I want a Boston Cream, a strawberry jelly, a

chocolate- glazed, one of them with the white icing and

pretty colorful sprinkles, and a blueberry. No, wait. I dont

want the blueberry. I want a vanilla cream and a cinnamon

stick.”

“Thats a lot of doughnuts.”

 “Im a big girl,” Lula said. “I got big appetites. I feel like

I could eat a million doughnuts.”

“How about you?” I asked Carl. “Do you need a doughnut?”

Carl vigorously shook his head yes and jumped up and

down in his seat and made excited monkey noises.

“Its creepy that this monkey knows what were saying,”

Lula said. “Its just not right. Its like hes a alien monkey or

something.”

“Sometimes Morellis dog, Bob, knows what Im saying.

He knows walk, and come and meatball.”

“Yeah, Tank knows some words, too, but not as many as

this monkey,” Lula said. “Of course, thats cause Tanks the

big, strong, silent type.”

Tank is Lulas fiancé, and his name says it all. Hes

Rangers right- hand man, second in command at Rangers

security firm Rangeman, and hes the guy Ranger trusts to

guard his back. To say that Tank is the big, strong, silent

type is a gross understatement on all accounts.

Fifteen minutes later, we were in the Jeep and wed eaten

all the doughnuts.

“I feel a lot better,” Lula said. “Now what?”

I looked down at my shirt. It had powdered sugar and a

big glob of jelly on it. “Im going home to change my shirt.”

“That dont sound real interesting,” Lula said. “You could

drop me at the office. I might have to take a nap.”

 

 

 

TWO

I parked my Jeep in the lot behind my apartment building,

and Carl and I crossed the lot and pushed through

the buildings rear entrance. We took the elevator to the

second floor, and Carl waited patiently while I opened my

door.

“So,” I said to him, “do you miss Susan?”

He shrugged.

“You do a lot of shrugging,” I told him.

He studied me for a moment and gave me the finger.

Okay, so it wasnt a shrug. And giving and getting the finger

is a way of life in Jersey. Still, getting the finger from a

monkey isnt normal even by Jersey standards.

My apartment consists of a small entrance foyer with

hooks on the wall for coats and hats and handbags. The

kitchen and living room open off the foyer, a dining area is

tucked into an extension of the living room, and at the

other end is a short hallway leading to my bedroom and

bathroom. My décor is mostly what ever was discarded by

relatives. This is okay by me because Aunt Bettys chair,

Grandma Mazurs dining room set, and my cousin Tooties

coffee table are comfortable. They come to me infused

with family history, and they give off a kind of gentle energy

that my life is sometimes lacking. Not to mention, I

cant afford anything else.

I hung my tote on one of the hooks in the foyer and stared

down at a pair of scruffy mens boots that had been kicked

off and left in the middle of the floor. I was pretty sure I recognized

the boots, plus the battered leather backpack that

had been dumped on Tooties coffee table.

I walked into the living room and stared down at the

backpack. I blew out a sigh and rolled my eyes. Why me? I

thought. Isnt it enough that I have a monkey? Do I really

need one more complication?

“Diesel?” I yelled.

I moved to the bedroom, and there he was, sprawled on

my bed. Over six feet of gorgeous, hard- muscled, slightly

tanned male. His eyes were brown and assessing, his hair

was sandy blond, thick, and unruly. His eyebrows were

fierce. Hard to tell his age. Young enough to be lots of

trouble. Old enough to know what he was doing. He was

wearing new gray sweatsocks, tattered jeans, and a faded

T-shirt that advertised a dive shop in the Caicos.

He rolled onto his back and smiled up at me when I

came into the room.

“Hey,” he said.

I pointed stiff- armed to the door. “Out!”

“What, no kiss hello?”

 “Get a grip.”

He patted the bed next to him.

“No way,” I said.

“Afraid?”

Of course I was afraid. He made the Big Bad Wolf look

like chump change.

“How do you always manage to smell like Christmas?” I

asked Diesel.

“I dont know. Its just one of those things.” The smile

widened, showing perfect white teeth, and crinkle lines

appeared around his eyes. “Its part of my appeal,” he said.

“You were in Martin Munchs house earlier today, werent

you?”

“Yeah. You came in the back door, and I went out the front.

I would have hung around, but I was following someone.”

“And?”

“I lost him.”

“Hard to believe.”

“Are you sure you dont want to roll around on the bed

with me?”

“Rain check,” I told him.

“Really?”

“No.”

Heres the thing with Diesel. Id be crazy not to want to

take him for a test drive, but Ive already got two men in

my life, and thats actually one too many. Truth is, Im a good

Catholic girl. The faith has always been elusive, but the guilt

is intractable. Im not comfortable having simultaneous intimate

relationships . . . even if its only for a glorious ten

minutes. And Diesel isnt a normal guy. At least thats his

story.

If Diesel is to be believed, there are people living

among us with abilities beyond normal. They look just like

anyone else, and most hold normal jobs and live relatively

normal lives. Theyre called Unmentionables, and some

are more unmentionable than others. From what Ive

seen, Diesel is about as unmentionable as a guy could get.

Diesel travels the world tracking Unmentionables whove

gone to the dark side, and then he pulls the power plug. I

dont know how he accomplishes this. Im not even sure

I believe any of it. All I know is, one minute hes here, and

then hes gone. And when he leaves, the barometric pressure

improves.

Diesel stood and stretched, and when he stretched,

there was a tantalizing flash of skin exposed between shirt

and low- riding jeans. It was enough to make my eyes glaze

over and my mouth go dry. I struggled to replace the

image with thoughts of Morelli naked, but I was only partially

successful.

“Im hungry,” Diesel said. “What time is it? Is it lunch -

time?” He looked at his watch. “Its after noon in Greenland.

Close enough.”

He ambled out of the bedroom and into the kitchen,

where Carl was sitting on the counter, staring into Rexs

aquarium.

“Whats with the monkey?” Diesel asked, his head in the

refrigerator.

“Im babysitting.”

Diesel gathered up some cold cuts and sliced cheese

and turned to me. “You dont strike me as especially maternal.”

“I have my moments.” Admittedly not very many, but

probably theyre just waiting for the right time to pop out.

Diesel found bread and made himself a sandwich. “He

got a name?”

“Carl.”

Diesel flipped Carl a slice of bread and Carl caught it

and ate it.

“Are you a monkey man?” I asked Diesel.

“I can take em or leave em.”

Carl shot Diesel the finger, and Diesel gave a bark of

laughter. Diesel ate some sandwich and looked my way.

“You two must get along great. You taught him that, right?”

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Visiting.”

“You never just visit.”

Diesel got a Bud Light from the fridge, chugged it, and

wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Im looking

for a guy who has been known to hang with your friend

Munch.”

“Does this guy drive a black Ferrari and have long black

hair?”

“Yes. Have you seen him?”

I shook my head. “No. Ive talked to Munchs neighbors,

and apparently he was Munchs only visitor. Munch didnt

have much of a social life.”

“What kind of leads do you have?” Diesel asked.

 “The usual. Nothing. And you?”

“I tracked my man to Munchs house but missed him by

minutes. Ive been trying to tag him for over a year. He can

sense my approach, and he moves on before I get too close.”

“Hes afraid of you.”

“No. Hes enjoying the game.”

“His name?”

“Gerwulf Grimoire,” Diesel said.

“Wow, thats a really bad name.”

“This is a really bad guy. And he wields a lot of power.

Somehow he connected with Munch, and now theyre

palling around together with Munchs magnetometer.”

“Why was Whats-his- name in Munchs house?” I asked

Diesel.

“Gerwulf Grimoire, but he goes by Wulf. I suppose

he went back to get something. Or maybe he was playing

with me. The house was clean when I got there. I followed

Wulfs breadcrumbs to Broad Street, and then they disappeared.”

“Breadcrumbs?”

“Cosmic debris. Hard to explain.”

“Do I leave cosmic debris?”

“Everyone leaves it. Some people leave more than others.

Wulf and I leave a lot because were dense. We both

carry high energy.”

“Thats weird.”

“Tell me about it,” Diesel said. “You should walk in my

shoes.” He crossed to the foyer, took my bag off its hook,

and stuck his hand in.

 “Hey!” I said. “What are you doing?”

“I want to read your case file on Munch.”

“How do you know its in there?”

“I know. Just like I know youre wearing a pink lace

thong, and you think Im hot.”

“How? What?” I said.

“Lucky guess,” Diesel said, pulling the file out of my bag,

scanning the pages.

“I do not think youre hot.”

“Thats a big fib,” Diesel said.

“I can save you some time,” I told him. “There isnt anything

in Munchs file. Only a grandmother.”

“Then lets talk to the grandmother.”

“Ive already talked to her.”

Diesel shoved his feet into his boots and laced up. “Lets

talk to her again.”

I changed my shirt, and we headed out.

“Your car or mine?” I asked him when we got to the lot.

“What are you driving?”

“The Jeep that used to be red.”

“I like it,” Diesel said.

“What are you driving?”

“The hog.”

I looked over at the black Harley. No room for Carl, and

it would wreck my hair. “Probably its easier to follow cosmic

dust when youre on a bike,” I said.

Diesel settled himself into the Jeeps passenger- side seat

and grinned at me. “You dont really think theres cosmic

dust, do you?”

I plugged the key into the ignition. “Of course not. Cosmic

dust would be . . . ridiculous.”

Diesel hooked an arm around my neck, pulled me to

him, and kissed me on the top of my head. “This is going to

be fun,” he said.

What Our Readers Are Saying

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Average customer rating based on 2 comments:

yerma, April 25, 2009 (view all comments by yerma)
Ohmygod, this book was just hilarious! Yes, I know, I read the other "review" by the person who hated it and thought it was three stooge-ish.

I laughed until I choked. From Lula sneezing and farting, to Martin Munch and his munchkins, it had everything: Ranger (soooo cool), Morelli (soooo hot), Carl (soooo funny), and Diesel (soooo other-worldly), it was a GREAT read!

I would recommend this book to any Stephanie Plum reader. You'll love it! See if you don't.

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(3 of 6 readers found this comment helpful)
I love books, January 10, 2009 (view all comments by I love books)
I have been reading Janet Evanovich's Plum books for years since I first picked up One for the Money. Priceless. Each book got better and better. They were rich with fantastic storylines, wit, fast-paced action, laugh-out-loud moments, heart-pounding moments, and characters that I grew to know and love.

As I read, book after book, year after year, I watched with glee as Janet catapulted to #1 bestselling status. She deserved it. The books were the best.

They are fiction. I know that. They are supposed to be funny. I know that.

Funny in the Evanovich earlier books used be witty and sharp. The storylines and characters were rich, exciting, sexy, with attitude, and scary with plots well written.

Plum Spooky falls very short of any of the above. It is silly, inane and juvenile. Could appeal to pre-teen and teen boys that revel in gross bodily functions. Characters I had known and loved now fit in the "what the????" category. Again, another book by Evanovich that reads like a bad three stooges episode.

Janet Evanovich needs to pull her old books off her shelf and read them. If she cannot go into her office and write like she used to, she needs to call it quits.

At almost $30 for a hardcover book, this is a rip-off and total waste of my hard-earned money.

This is the last Evanovich book I will read until I start reading reviews that assure me that the Janet Evanovich books are as good as they used to be.
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Product Details

ISBN:
9780312383329
Author:
Evanovich, Janet
Publisher:
St. Martin's Press
Author:
King, Lorelei
Subject:
General
Subject:
General Fiction
Subject:
Mystery & Detective - Women Sleuths
Subject:
New jersey
Subject:
Plum, stephanie (fictitious character)
Subject:
Mystery fiction
Subject:
Humorous fiction
Subject:
Adventure
Subject:
Humorous
Subject:
Mystery
Subject:
Detective / Women Sleuths
Subject:
Mystery-A to Z
Subject:
Romance/Romantic Comedy
Copyright:
Edition Description:
Mass market paperback
Series:
A Between the Numbers Novel
Series Volume:
No. 4
Publication Date:
20090106
Binding:
Electronic book text in proprietary or open standard format
Grade Level:
General/trade
Language:
English
Illustrations:
3 CD; 4 Hrs
Pages:
320
Dimensions:
6.74 x 4.22 x 0.87 in

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Related Subjects

Fiction and Poetry » Mystery » A to Z
Fiction and Poetry » Mystery » Sale Books

Plum Spooky (Stephanie Plum Novels) Used Hardcover
0 stars - 0 reviews
$7.95 In Stock
Product details 320 pages St. Martin's Press - English 9780312383329 Reviews:
"Publishers Weekly Review" by , "Trenton bounty hunter Stephanie Plum must track down a bail jumper intent on wreaking havoc in Evanovich's breezy 'between the numbers' adventure, the first novel-length episode. Before disappearing, Martin Munch, a 24-year-old boy genius with a doctorate in quantum physics, stole a magnetometer from the research lab where he worked. Tasked with bringing him in, Stephanie reluctantly enlists the help of Diesel, the handsome, mysterious bounty hunter who periodically pops into her life. They discover that Munch joined forces with Gerwulf 'Wulf' Grimoire, a wealthy psychopath with a penchant for snapping his victims' necks and burning a handprint into their flesh. With Munch and Wulf MIA in Trenton, Stephanie and Diesel follow the trail to the Pine Barrens, a densely wooded area rumored to be the home of the mythical Jersey Devil. Add to the mayhem a bird-flipping monkey named Carl, stolen rockets and just enough of her main squeezes, Morelli and Ranger, to keep it interesting, and you've got just another day in Stephanie Plum's crazy life. Evanovich (Fearless Fourteen) skillfully balances humor with a surprisingly coherent plot, ensuring readers will be clamoring for the next 'numbered' installment." Publishers Weekly (Copyright Reed Business Information, Inc.)
"Review" by , "The repartee sparkles and shimmies from razor wit to toilet humor (and back again), and the plot involves mud, food tossing, explosive farts, occasional kissing, and hilarious (and true-to-life, alas) allergic reactions (that would be from Lula)... Incredible amounts of fun."
"Synopsis" by ,
Stephanie Plum is back in town, along with her sidekick Lula, her Grandma Mazur, and a cast of freaks, criminals, and lunatics looking for love. 
"Synopsis" by ,

Evanovich fans rejoice!  Stephanie Plum is back in town, along with her sidekick Lula, her Grandma Mazur, and an ever-widening cast of freaks, criminals, deranged felons, and lunatics looking for love.  And just when Stephanie thinks her life cant get any more complicated, in walks the mysterious Diesel.  A man who seems to show up at the most inconvenient moments.  This time, hes the instigator for Stephanies new adventure, which involves camping in the Pine Barrens with Lula, and perhaps even a sighting of the Jersey Devil…so hang on for a Stephanie Plum novel that is sure to send chills up your spine—it gives new meaning to the words hilarious, and “spooky.” 

"Synopsis" by ,
The First Full Length Stephanie Plum Between-the-Numbers Novel from #1 Bestselling Author Janet Evanovich.

Turn on all the lights and check under your bed. Things are about to get spooky in Trenton, New Jersey.

 
According to legend, the Jersey Devil prowls the Pine Barrens and soars above the treetops in the dark of night. As eerie as this might seem, there are things in the Barrens that are even more frightening and dangerous. And there are monkeys. Lots of monkeys.
 
Wulf Grimoire is a world wanderer and an opportunist who can kill without remorse and disappear like smoke. Hes chosen Martin Munch, boy genius, as his new business partner, and hes chosen the Barrens as his new playground.
 
Munch received his doctorate degree in quantum physics when he was twenty-two. Hes now twenty-four, and while his brain is large, his body hasnt made it out of the boys department at Macys. Anyone who says good things come in small packages hasnt met Munch. Wulf Grimoire is looking for world domination. Martin Munch would be happy if he could just get a woman naked and tied to a tree.
 
Bounty hunter Stephanie Plum has Munch on her most-wanted list for failure to appear in court. Plum is the all-American girl stuck in an uncomfortable job, succeeding on luck and tenacity. Usually she gets her man. This time she gets a monkey. She also gets a big guy named Diesel.
 
Diesel pops in and out of Plums life like birthday cake - delicious to look at and taste, not especially healthy as a steady diet, gone by the end of the week if not sooner. Hes an über bounty hunter with special skills when it comes to tracking men and pleasing women. Hes after Grimoire, and now hes also after Munch. And if truth were told, he wouldnt mind setting Stephanie Plum in his crosshairs.
 
Diesel and Plum hunt down Munch and Grimoire, following them into the Barrens, surviving cranberry bogs, the Jersey Devil, a hair-raising experience, sand in their underwear, and, of course . . . monkeys.

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